TA-DA! Here's the second part! Oh you're gonna love this one....the great seducer cometh....this girl is a cross between Gisele and the infamous Julia Roberts Maggie. 100% pure seduction. Intelligent. Irresistible. Dumb sluts...beware...girls ....lock up your boyfriends. But what will Tristan do? Give in or ....hold on? Read and find out. But it won't be the last time you'll see Mags. Oh, she'll be quite back. I bumped up the rating as one of my reviewers suggested, for language; this chapter is dedicated to all those who reviewed, Angel Grace for once addicting me once again, Anna (like the hannibal reference?), brokenflower, and all that is trory. let the games begin.

disclaimer on first ch.

enjoy.

luce

6:00 a.m.

A hand fumbled across the dresser, knocking a small picture down before it hit the alarm clock with a vengeance, sending it skittering off the dresser and onto the floor and silencing it. Groaning, Tristan sat up, rubbing his eyes to shake the sleep off. The covers fell away from his body as he crawled out of bed, shedding what little clothing he had on the way to the shower. He turned up the hot water so it almost singed, and sighed a small sigh of content. Lathering his body up, he began to hum along with the shower radio.

7:00 a.m.

With a satisfied smirk, he pulled the tie, adjusting it, and admired his profile in the mirror. The suit fell over his frame gracefully, the broad shoulders and chest prominent, the blue of his eyes dazzling. A quick hand through his hair with a little gel, a smile that would land a GQ cover, and a leer that could turn knees into useless joints made of pudding instead of cartilage. He was ready for school. He almost wanted to laugh out loud.

"I'm too sexy for my shirt, I'm too sexy for my pants" he snapped his fingers and shook his ass, strutting out of the room with the mad desire to die of laughter. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't care. Smelling the aroma of hazelnut coffee from the kitchen, he thought of Rory instantly; the smirk transformed into a grin, and he licked his lips. Taking a long drink, he poured some into a Styrofoam cup with a snap lid and stuck it in his Porsche's cup holder. Throwing his bag in the back, he turned up the music, letting the heavy base from the state-of-the-art speakers in the back pulse through him. Putting down the windows, he shrieked out of the driveway, tires burning, and sped down the road.

8:00 a.m.

"Hello Clarice," came a sinister, low whisper behind her.

Rory jumped and bit her tongue in her effort to suppress a scream. She'd never been good with scary movies.

"God Tristan, don't do that! You made me bite my tongue!" she spat, putting a finger insider her mouth to make sure she wasn't bleeding.

"I'm sorry.." he begged, puppy dog eyes full force. "I was running out of special ways to greet you. I brought you coffee. Will that make it better?"

"Maybe," said Rory unrelentingly, taking the steaming cup.

"If not, I think a good massage should do it," he whispered in her ear, catching her off guard. She shook it off, suppressing the smile that threatened to swallow her face.

"Speaking of which, my fist would love to massage your face. Not only did you not return my No Doubt CD yet but you made me bite my tongue and now you're sexually harassing me."

"Suck it up." Tristan grinned.

"That's it. You're on probation. Don't speak to me till you've redeemed yourself." Rory snapped, and marched away.

"Rory! Wait!" he called, catching up to her.

"Do I hear something? Must be my subconscious yelling at me again. Why are you nice to Tristan, Rory? Huh? I thought I taught you better than that, but there you go again, giving him time to apologize.." she said out loud to herself.

"Here," he said simply, shoving a book at her.

She stopped still, her mouth open in a silent little o. Slowly, she took the book, her fingers running over the glossy cover. She looked up at him.

"Where did you find this? I've been looking for Maud Martha for the longest time ever but Barnes and Noble didn't have any Gwendolyn Brooks books at the moment and I didn't know where to lo-"

"Doesn't matter," he said shortly, cutting off her dazed rambling. The bell rang.

"Seya," he said, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

She stood still among the streams of people around her.

"Tristan!" she suddenly yelled. Several people turned their heads and passed, but he turned around and stopped, grinning.

She started walking towards him quickly, and he headed in her direction.

"You bastard! You think you can get away with anything! Well I'll have you know that bringing me some book I've been wanting forever when you didn't have to and when you probably bought it is not gonna get you off the hook because you made me bite my ton-"

His mouth closed in on hers, and pressed against it hungrily, caressing for a soft moment before breaking.

She grinned against his mouth, leaning back, still smiling.

"You're welcome," he whispered, smirking, his eyes brilliant.

She shook her head, her dazzling smile lighting up the vast deep sky blue, and slung her arms around his neck.

"You didn't have to," she said softly.

"It was just a thank you...of sorts...for staying Friday. I'm sorry for ....acting the way I did. I didn't mean to take advantage of the situation. I know you don't get around like that, but I didn't know what I was doing at the moment. I just wanted to let you know that you don't have to compromise yourself for me. I'm fucked up and you're not. Let's keep it that way." he said, with a half serious, quiet smile.

"You're a work in progress, let's put it that way," she said dryly, with a grin.

"You're too nice to me."

"That I won't deny," Rory laughed and headed towards her class.

Waving once, Tristan ran a hand through his hair, put on his misdemeanor extraordinaire look and sauntered into the classroom with a hard, careless look and a leer for the girls that looked up at him. His friends acknowledged him; he nodded back as he sank into a seat, and the teacher eyed him warily.

He slumped in the desk, pulling out a stack of papers and a pencil.

His mind was listening, but he was drifting inside somewhere. In his seat sat a shell of him that kept everyone happy and quiet while his imagination wandered through memories and fantasies, ideas and regrets, and most of all, the troubling phone call.

He recalled the way she bit her red stained bottom lip that made him crave her instantly; the long legs that slowly emerged from the white fur coat, the slim, lanky bronzed figure with moist skin and assets that were impossible to miss. Swallowing air, he felt a headache coming on. God.

His fingers had traced their way up the inside of her thigh, where in curious desire they stopped over the tattoo.

"My father's coat of arms," she'd whispered, her tongue on the rim of his earlobe. "What you buy is what you get. It increases my market price," she giggled deliciously, a sultry, sweet, girlish sound. His fingers traveled upward.......

"Mr. DuGrey!"

His head snapped up to face the angry teacher. Maintaining his cool.

"Theory of Relativity in relation to Einstein, formulated to express the mass in relation to the energy." he answered coolly, and everyone stared.

Flustered, the teacher resumed her lesson.

He put his head in his hands, forcing himself to pick up a pencil. His throat was dry. He thought of Rory, of her smile, her innocent arms thrown around his neck, the sweet smile that warmed him. Maggie had left him cold. Cold but god, how good she'd made cold feel for a little while.....

Groaning silently, he forced himself to concentrate.

You will not give in. You will not lose this. You will not fuck up.

Not this time.

Not anymore.

Rory curled up on the couch with a bowl of carrot sticks. Humming, she turned the pages of her book, with a sheer smile of ecstasy. She had already finished the first chapter, a carrot dangling halfway out of her mouth; her eyes were wide in concentration, so absorbed in the book that she didn't even hear the door slam.

"Wow, look at that, she's reading. I'm shocked. Must be a good book," said Lorelai wryly, suppressing a grin.

"Why do you say that...." mumbled Rory, not lifting her eyes.

"You've been in mid-chew for a minute now," laughed Lorelai, and Rory looked up and guiltily swallowed.

"It is," Rory said earnestly, going back to the book.

"Alright.......I see three's company....I'll leave...."

"No, wait," said Rory determinedly, putting down her book. "There. Tell me how your day was."

"God-awful. I had a mad urge to hannibalize Michel. I just kept thinking how cute his brain would look on those little wheat crackers Sookie makes." groaned Lorelai.

"Let me guess, he was flirting with your mother on the phone again." giggled Rory.

"Worse. But never mind Michel, Sookie broke her nail and lost it in the cinnamon roll dough. Our poor guests had only icing to eat, and I think I pulled a muscle in my hip."

"Poor baby. Must be getting old, pretty soon I'll have to put you in a nursing home." joked Rory.

"Hey missy, respect my whines and woes. As for the nursing home comment, you will feed me and change my diapers till the day I pass on to the happy hunting grounds, or my ghost will come back to haunt you and mysteriously afflict you with barrenness so that you will never produce any children, and no one will give your father any sheep or gold for you."

"Oh no, what about my tribe! Who will lead our people into the promised land if I have no children?" moaned Rory in mock terror.

"Your pets." grinned Lorelai.

"You forget we're incapable of having any. In every kind of way."

"Yuck, child. We could get a goldfish. You don't have to clean after it."

"A goldfish would lead our people to the promised lands? Right. Besides, if I know you, if you ran out of those little fish-kabob things at our next cookout, you'll scoop that sucker right out and barbecue it and serve it to Miss Patty. Our tribe is doomed to end. Our family tree is thus logged to become a dresser." sighed Rory.

"A little dramatic, aren't we. By the way, where did you get that book?" said Lorelai, plopping down on the couch next to Rory.

"Uh, Tristan," admitted Rory a little reluctantly.

"I see. Oh yeah, remind me to find those eyelet pillowcases for your dowry." deadpanned Lorelai.

"Ok, Seinfeld," glared Rory. "I don't see any cameras. Is this Comedy Central?"

"Ooh, I love it when you're touchy. Say, what's going on with you two? I want in. It's like, you're friends who just happen to accidentally kiss now and then or you're dating or you hate each other or he's wooing-"

"Who says wooing anymore?" interrupted Rory peevishly.

"I just did," snapped Lorelai. "So, what's the deal? And please be kind enough to explain to me why you never went on that field trip and instead showed up back here at home on Saturday afternoon. I was too busy to quiz you yesterday, but the inquisition is on. Don't make me threaten you with the rack."

"Tristan found out that his parents were splitting right before I came over. Turns out his mom had an affair. It's a mess, a complete debacle, the boy was a wreck, I played Mother Theresa with some Chicken Soup and tucked him in and then slept on his couch. Saturday we wake up and he drives me home. I mean to tell you right away, I'm really sorry if you were worried. You know I'm always good. But that night, he was a mess and I would not have wanted to get in the car with him."

"Ah, I see." said Lorelai, falling silent for a moment. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of things, thinking about the boy.

"You've got a lot of work to do, Rory. I know you've started to like him, but the arrangement you have right now will have to do for the moment. Just be friends as much as you can, and try to help him; but you know as well as I do that as much as he likes you, he's still a playboy. If he takes advantage, it won't be because he wants to hurt you, it'll be because he won't be able to help himself. So try to put that distance, will ya? Just for my peace of mind."

"I know mom, but he's doing better, I swear he is. Or was till Friday. God, what a mess his life is."

"I know, but that's exactly what I'm trying to save you from. He's not strong enough to keep himself from pulling you into that mess, because he's not strong enough to step out of it. He's got a past to deal with." said Lorelai earnestly, observing Rory to see if she understood.

Rory sighed, and leaned her head on her mother's shoulder.

"I know, sometimes it's so hard though..." she whispered, and Lorelai stroked her head.

"It will be the hardest thing you've done yet," said Lorelai comfortingly. "But, he loves you, whether he knows you or not. I know myself when I see it in others...and the boy reminds me of myself too much."

"Let's hope so," murmured Rory.

"Luke's?" asked Lorelai, pointing to the door.

"Of course," grinned Rory. "Why do you even ask?"

The two ran towards the diner, the cold air settling a rosy blush over their cheeks; Luke watched them come in with a grin that disappeared when Lorelai bounced up to the counter. Instead, his usual stoic countenance greeted her.

"Morning, Grinch. Christmas is coming, shouldn't you be out there tying antlers to your dog and figuring out how to get down the chimney so you can steal the present I got you?" smiled Lorelai, sliding onto a bar stool. Rory joined her.

"You got me a present? Waste of your money," muttered Luke, one eyebrow raised.

"Of course. It's big, it's glorious, it's marvelously tacky and ridiculously under-priced."

"I wouldn't expect less. Coffee?" he asked, plopping down two mugs.

The two sat in shock.

"What?" Luke said innocently, enjoying their expressions.

"We haven't begged yet! You can't do this! It's breach of tradition!" ranted Lorelai, glaring at him.

"Take away the cups before she has a coronary, Luke," grinned Rory.

"Okay," he sighed, and attempted to take the cups. Two sets of hands slapped his arms away.

"Evil coffee man, trying to take my poor little mug. Much better. Now fill 'er up." commanded Lorelai, and Luke complied.

Outside, small flakes had started drifting to the ground like tiny frozen rain kisses from the sky.

The road was becoming slick; should've left Trenton's house earlier, Tristan thought to himself regretfully. Carefully with a sharp preciseness, he guided the car around the curves that led to the driveway. It was dark already, and he knew his parents were home tonight. Don't let them get mad at me, he prayed silently, wondering why he cared now of all times.

Pulling into the spacious winding drive and through the gates, he pulled up in front of his house. Curious, he realized there was a black Lincoln Towncar limousine he vaguely recognized in the driveway. Inside, a chauffer sat, nodding along to some music. The house was well lighted, glowing in the dark with golden lamplight through the misty curtained windows; snowflakes drifted past the soft shine of the lights, making the stone facade warmer. For a moment he was amazed at how homey it looked despite it's sheer grandiose proportions. Shaking off the feeling bitterly when he remembered what awaited inside, he slammed the door and ran up the front steps. Unlocking it with his key, he tumbled into the lobby, shivering.

From a lushly decorated room not too far in the distance, he could hear voices, controlled laughter like the tinkle of champagne glasses floating through the hall; polite chuckles and amusing anecdotes shared, meanwhile digging in hints about who's the wealthiest, thought Tristan wryly.

Wonder who's here, was his last absent thought, before he entered the living room.

The crystal chandelier sprinkled his face with a million diamond lights and blinded him for a moment; dazed, he looked around the cream and gold room decorated with ferns and classic furniture, and focused on the four faces.

"Tristan, son, you're home. Elizabeth, Warner, you remember Tristan, our son." said his father's alarmingly friendly voice. His heart stopped cold at the next words.

"Tristan, you remember the Sheffields."

He took a deep breath and looked at the well bred, polite faces in front of his. Elizabeth's pearls glimmered around her throat; her green eyes pierced him. No, he begged silently. No.

"A pleasure," he replied suavely, with a charming smile that instantly won her.

"Maggie's somewhere around the house, wandering, no doubt. She wanted to see you, perhaps you should find her," said Elizabeth smoothly, with a perfect smile. Her green eyes froze him, followed him.

"Thanks, I will," he replied, his voice in perfect control. "May I?" he said to his father, and waited for the nod to slip out of the room.

He saw himself in the hallway mirror as he passed; taking a moment, he put his head in his hands, praying desperately. His mind cleared slowly, he took a deep, long breath, and looked at himself in the mirror. A little pale, but composed.

He ran up the semi dark stairs, following the little wall lamps to his room; with a certain instinct, he sensed her from far away. Prepared for the blow, he opened the door.

There was a one single lamp turned on in the room; it cast a dark, shadowy glow over everything, catching a few objects with it's dim gold glow. There was a figure standing in front of the mirror, her head bent; she was looking at something. The girl was tall, with long, lithe, sexy legs tanned a moist bronze that glistened with a slight sheen in the lamplight; they poured out of a khaki trench coat tied at the slim waist; damp looking, messy strands of golden blond hair descended and cascaded from the top of her head, and she lifted her head and looked in the mirror.

They made eye contact in the glass. She did not turn around.

He was held still to the spot, pinned by those clear green eyes like spring grass; her lips were stained red, yet bare and sensual. They slowly stretched into a smile that sent him mentally reeling.

She turned around slowly.

He could see where the folds of the Burberry raincoat met the gold sheen of her flesh on her chest, the bare space tempting. For a mad second he thought she was wearing nothing underneath. Regaining his composure, he refused to follow the curve of her leg that showed in a dizzying ascent through the opening in the coat when she slowly sat down on his desk.

She licked her lips, teasing, already slowly driving him insane.

"Hey Tristan," she said in her clear, low, smooth voice. "Miss me much?"

He fought to regain composure. All that flashed through his eyes was the arch of her back.

"Breaking and entering, I see. I'd say you missed me more. Had a long trip?" he said coolly, seemingly unaffected. Maybe she was the queen of the game, but he had invented it.

She shrugged.

"Only two hours, took the Concord from London. Good to see you again." she said quietly, playing cat and mouse. Come closer, come closer......

"How's life been treating you?" he managed, retaining his calm.

"Worse since you left," she answered, watching him from under her eyelashes; her eyes glistened with a pale pure gold sheen on the lids, making the green icy and limpid.

He nodded, tense.

"We should go down for dinner," he said, turning.

"Tristan."

The voice was a deathless song; it froze him on the spot, a million chilled memories descending through him through that contralto. She pulled him like a puppet.

"You know," she said, her warm breath close to his ear from behind, "in Europe it's customary to kiss upon greeting...."

His knees were weak. Tristan, whose knees were never weak for anyone...except....

"Rory," he answered firmly, stepping away.

One eyebrow rose incredulously. Tristan had stepped away. This was unbelievable. Her eyes turned impatient.

"What's a Rory?" she laughed, and a million flutters raced under his veins.

"Rory's her name, and I'm not available. You should probably keep your distance. Maggie, you were fabulous once upon a time. But, I have promises to keep for once. Sorry." he said steadily, looking her straight in the eye.

"Rory, Rory," her voice said petulantly, a naughty pout on her face. She started wandering around the room. "Sounds so....quaint.....let me guess, goes to your school? Small town girl I bet. She's a Mary, isn't she. God Tristan, when are you men going to get it....virgins aren't the shit...they never were....." she said poignantly.

Carelessly, she undid the tie around the waist, letting the dark wine red silk of the tight dress underneath slip out. It clung to her fabulous body in a way that made his throat dry. He refused to look at her directly. The plunging neckline accosted him.

"She's small town, and she's different, and I'm determined. I don't particularly give a shit about what you say. We're way past the point where I was chasing you," he said coolly, and his eyes were unsteady. She didn't miss a single twitch.

"Tristan, Tristan," she sighed, languidly tossing back the blonde, irregular clumps of soft tresses that clung to her neck in tendrils. It gleamed like precious gold. "When will you give up your little fantasy games? You always want what you have to chase. Look at you. She lives in a different world than you completely. Whoever she is, she might as well be on another planet. You and me, we're incredibly fucked up......we belong together.....only people like us. We drink Cristal in gold and cream dining rooms and feel each other up under the table, we take yachts down to the Greek islands and float on the Mediterranean blue from island to island. What does she have in common with you? How could she understand you?"

Tristan felt dizzy under the spell of her words; she seemed to reel him in invisibly, pulling out his fears and secret questions. He felt nauseous.

"You can't go around fucking up other innocent people, babe," she whispered, coming up from behind, and resting her chin on his shoulder, her pout like a little child's. He stood silently and watched their reflection in the mirror.

"Besides, here's another question; does she know about all the things you've done?" she said deliciously, laying a damp kiss on his neck like a butterfly touch.

Tristan could not respond.

"That's what I thought," Mags grinned. "I doubt she would appreciate your history in bed. Let's see. Hmmm.....was it three times that night? Four? Mmmm.........My legs get weak just thinking about it......" she whispered. " And was I the only one ever? Oh....I highly doubt that......"

He was paralyzed. She brought her body close, gluing it to his back, her hands creeping up the front of his chest, slowly sliding over him, down, over the flat, hard stomach..down.....the long, slim fingers traced the top of the belt buckle.......he was going mad...his body was failing him...... he let out a soft groan as her lips brushed against his neck again.

A flash of blue. A serene smile.

Rory.

"Stop," was his sharp command, as he shook her off, horrified. His body protested, and he fought it against his own will. "Forget it Mags, I can't do this. I'm sorry you don't believe me."

Her face registered displeased shock, then, it was calm and impassioned again. Maggie Longbourne Sheffield was not one to be easily affected. Nor was she one to easily give up. She licked her red stained lips, the tip of her tongue holding his full stare, and adjusted her skirt; slipping into the coat again, she gave him a mysterious smile that frightened him senseless.

"I'll believe you don't want to right now. I know you can," she grinned, making him silently groan as her innuendo laced words hit him. "But trust me, if she knew all the shit you haven't told her babe, that girl wouldn't lay lips on you if you held a gun to her head; don't believe me? Try. And when she runs off crying, here's my cell phone number."

She took a red lipstick out of her purse and wrote the number in precise letters on the mirror. Putting it back in the Fendi slouch bag with the woven jacquard, she passed him, a slight trace of her spicy, sweet perfume lingering in her wake. He watched her legs and rear hungrily as they swung down the hallway in a model walk. Maggie had always done everything stunningly, even if it was just walking.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down on his bed, weak from the strenuous encounter. Every fiber of his body had wanted her relentlessly, while his mind had cried out. He felt water flood his muscles from the restraint now relaxed. For a moment he allowed himself to remember a few private moments that made his whole body shudder. Determinedly closing those off, he sprawled out and tried to think clearly.

Jesus........he cursed weakly, thinking of what he had just turned down.

Rory.

The word made him stronger. But Maggie's frightening words sliced through him; a pang of fear shot through his mind as he acknowledged that it might be true. What if Maggie was right? What if Rory knew everything? Would she still want to love him?

Nausea hit; he refused to give in to it. Dear Mags would be proved wrong. He would do as she had told him, and would triumph. He copied the number on the mirror with a vicious thrill. He would prove her wrong, for once and for all.

Quieted, he carefully put the number in his wallet. He formulated a few quiet plans, took a deep breath, and headed to the bathroom. Quickly washing his face and hands, he still felt dirty; toweling off, he ran a hand through his hair and headed downstairs.

The instant charmer smile hit full force again.

"Good, here you are, we were about to call you. Dinner is being served." said his mother with an even smile. He took his place and politely unfolded his napkin. Two sets of green eyes followed his movements. He looked up with his crystal blue ones, casting a discreetly leering glance at both. Both were romanced at once. Tristan's father laughed a hearty laugh, patting his son on the back.

" Top 5% in his class, that's our boy. Did I tell you that-"

Tristan paid no more attention to the asinine conversation, planning and thinking steadily through dinner, avoiding the jade green eyes. A foot caressed his leg and slid slowly upwards his calf under the table. He shook it off politely, careful not to attract attention. He was about to shoot a pointed look in Maggie's direction when he looked at both sets of eyes and realized he could not tell which was the perpetrator. He watched them glare at each other, the thin hatred and the sheer disgusting nature of it all shooting through him.

"May I be excused, I think I'm going to be sick," he said to his father, looking at him directly.

His father began a frown, changed his mind, and smiled a condescending, fake, concerned smile.

"Of course. You look it."

Slamming the front door, the boy raced towards his car. Unconcerned about the snow that was falling around him heavily now, he screeched out of the driveway, skidding on the wet pavement. His muscles strained in an effort to control the car, and he managed to stop the spin. Breathing heavily, scared, he paused for a second.

Carefully, he sped out of the driveway, driving as fast as he could without losing control. His muscles hurt from the tense grip on the wheel and the gears, and from frantically overworking the stick; he pressed the gas carefully, tapping the brakes lightly. Sheer insanity, was the thought that played through his mind.

Stopping in front of the small, homey house he closed his door with a slam; snowflakes clung to his hair and eyelashes and to the light blue soft cotton polo he wore over the low-slung khakis that cradled his hips. Shivering, he stood outside in the cold, listening to the laughter inside as the two girls made their way towards the doorbell. His heart hurt, his eyes tearing up from the cold.

The door open, revealing two incredulous faces.

"Tristan?" gasped Rory, looking at the shivering figure.

"I had to talk to you, I had to, now, I'm sorry but I couldn-" he managed before Lorelai grabbed him, snatching him inside the house.

"You crazy-ass idiot what the hell possessed you to go driving in this weather, yes, I know Rory's fabulous but she's nowhere near THAT fabulous-"

"Hey," interrupted Rory.

"so you should know better, and where the hell are your parents? What are you doing?" she finished as she hustled him into the living room and rushed to the linen closet for a towel.

His strange laugh made Lorelai's heart sink; she recognized it all too well. Of course. Why had she even bothered to ask about his parents?

She threw the towel to Rory who began to hurriedly dry his hair, his arms, his face and brushed the snowflakes off him before they began to melt. Lorelai was making coffee in the kitchen. Tristan sighed and sank back into the couch, his eyes tired.

He turned towards Rory.

"I have something to tell you..." he said, and watched her draw a sharp breath as she observed his expression.

"It's not a good thing...I can tell.." she said softly, her mind slowly and quietly beginning to pull out her fears and unfold them as she became numb.

"No, no, don't get worried; don't be scared," he implored as he watched her shrink away. "It's definitely not what you're probably thinking...you'll probably hate me but I have to do this, you see? I have to," he concluded lamely, his sentence unfinished, her eyes wide and full with unreadable emotions.

"Well you can tell her after you get warmed up," said Lorelai, plunking down a coffee cup in front of him. "Drink. Life will be restored to your body. I'm gonna go dig up some old sweats and shirts of Christopher's for you, and you'll go take a hot shower since you're still shivering. Didn't you turn the heat on in the car?" she frowned.

It hadn't occurred to Tristan.

Lorelai shook her head in disbelief, muttering as she headed upstairs.

Tristan turned towards Rory, his mouth suddenly numb; in her innocent beauty, lit softly by the bright lamplight, he forgot the enigma in the Burberry khaki trench coat....

"Rory....I......"

There's the second installment. He resisted once. But if he resists twice....that will all depend on what Rory does...an unexpected twist in the plot about to come up. Pesky snow....... will trap a few select people....where? Did you say Luke's? Who? Did you say Jess? WHAT? did you say bad boy.....fight...or...alliance? Now I'm getting ahead of myself. Please let it be in your heart to review my humble little ficcie.....or drop me a line, love it hate it whatever. I welcome all those who write...